My First And My Last
by Persephone Chiara
Summary: The year is 9:56 Dragon. Having lost her husband Loghain Mac Tir to a darkspawn raid five years earlier, Rhiannon Cousland spends most of her life in mourning at Vigil's Keep. Her trusted Second, Nathaniel Howe, keeps watch over her until a lost love makes its presence known one last time…


Author's note: Several things should be mentioned here. For one, this is NOT Canon for "The Edge Of The Grey Engima". Two: This is probably the most angst filled tale I have ever written. You have been warned! My thanks must go to MagickLorelai, my lovely friend and beta, to Maria Callas - my ever restless muse and to all of you, my dearest readers.

Warnings: Mild DAO & DAA Spoilers. Character Deaths. Yes, plural.

Summary:_ The year is 9:56 Dragon. Having lost her husband Loghain Mac Tir to a darkspawn raid five years earlier, Rhiannon Cousland spends most of her life in mourning at Vigil's Keep. Her trusted Second, Nathaniel Howe, keeps Watch over her until a lost __love__ makes its presence known one last time…_

Pairing: Cousland/Alistair, Cousland/Nathaniel, Cousland/Loghain

**My First And My Last – A Dragon Age Ficlet**

_For thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart  
I know myself secure, as thou in mine;  
We were and are - I am, even as thou art  
Beings who ne'er each other can resign;  
It is the same, together or apart,  
From life's commencement to its slow decline  
We are entwined-let death come slow or fast,  
The tie which bound the first endures the last!_

(George Gordon, Lord Byron)

9:56 Dragon, Harvestmere

_My dearest friend and sister,_

_The time has come, the waiting is over. When you are reading this, I'll be on my way to Ostagar to pay my final respects to those who sacrificed so much to save our lives. After that, Maker willing, I will travel further north….. _The following words were smudged beyond recognition. _…..A fitting end for a borrowed life, wouldn't you say? Don't be angry with me for not telling you. You are the last now and Ferelden needs you still. Lead the Grey Wardens as you always have and be happy. Do not mourn me. _

_Yours in all that matters,_

_Alistair_

The note fell from her suddenly numb fingers, ice cold shards of realization assaulting her from all sides. The letter reeked of death and corruption, echoed by the taint in her own blood, that alone defied her bitter outcry against what happened to be nothing but the sober truth of a Grey Warden's life. Or the end thereof, given that she herself would be well down that path, had an ancient abomination not sacrificed countless lives to….no, enough! Hands, warm but none too gentle, grasped hers in a steadying grip, chipped grey eyes seeking her face intently. She wanted to hug him almost as much as she was itching to toss him out of her bedchamber. No one, least of all Arl Howe's cynical son who also happened to be her lover occasionally, would see her cry again. She was finished with tears forever and that was that! Except that wasn't that, as Nathaniel had no desire to leave her alone.

"Rhiannon, what is it?" he demanded, his grip as steady as his voice. "You look like you've seen a ghost or worse." Which was an utterly inane remark, given that she had seen plenty of ghosts and definitely worse in her lifetime, she bristled wordlessly.

"Definitely worse." Her breath came in short, ragged gulps as self-control and discipline fought a bloody battle of anguish and despair. Despair won out. "I have to go to Ostagar."

"Why in the Maker's name would anyone in their right mind…." He hesitated at the sudden burst of laughter from her. Bordering on the hysterical, there was a shrill edge to the sound, sending cold shivers down his spine. His father had sometimes laughed like that. His father had been a crazed mass murderer…. Shutting the image out, he looked at her, as if examining a piece of art for flaws. The scar above her upper lip, the strands of silver in her waist length black hair, the deep lines at the corners of her mouth, the emptiness of her violet eyes and the gown of mourning, tightly laced and out of fashion by now, they all had their own stories to tell, and none of them was campfire material. The Lady Of Perpetual Mourning they called her because of her refusal to wear anything but black after her husband's death during a darkspawn raid some five years back; and that was among the kindest of nicknames Fereldans had come up with for their estranged heroine. No one, safe maybe Queen Anora, had mourned the Hero Of River Dane more than Ferelden's people and they had claimed him in death as they had in life, there was no stopping them. Not that she had cared one way or the other.

"No one would, I am aware of that!" she sputtered, still darkly amused. "I still have to go. I shall leave you in charge with Tara as your Second." Her brain already busy rattling through a list of things she would have to do before her departure, she found herself imprisoned by a pair of strong, unyielding arms around her waist and a pair of thunderous eyes glaring down at her.

"You can't go anywhere that dangerous in your current…." Her current what? State? "In your current situation, Commander." Nathaniel quickly amended.

"And who in the Maker's name are you to tell me what to do?" she scoffed derisively, some of her old fire returning. Hands on her hips, eyes ablaze, she was herself again after five years of lost time, of regrets, of…no, no more! How dare he, she groused inwardly, how dare he remind her that she had not touched a blade since that fateful day five summers ago? Had she not overseen her Wardens' training despite that? Or done her duties as an Arlessa? It was infuriating, but then the Howes had always been greedy little bastards! Like father like son, her feverish brain concluded in a downpour of anger.

"I am the old fool who has done his duty as a Second must, these past five years and more." Well, that certainly was not what she had expected to hear. "I am the one who has protected you from the outside world after making a promise to…" Loghain's name remained stuck in his throat at the sight of her flying at him, her fingernails aimed at his eyes. Her mind had splintered utterly that day, her spirit darting from rage to powerless grief at lightning speed. It was one of her _bad days _and a part of him cursed Ferelden's king for upsetting her like that.

"Don't say his name…." she gasped and deflated like a sail being torn from its mast. "Maker, I am so sorry…." She cried into the folds of his shirt, her shoulders shaking violently. "But I have to go. I will be alright, I promise."

_How can I trust such a promise, knowing that Tara has been dead these past ten years? _Nathaniel knew better than to say it out loud, so he merely gathered her close and kissed her. Wherever the fierce Commander he had recklessly fallen in love with had withdrawn to, he would find her and bring her back. It was the one promise he had made that he would never even consider breaking. _Take care of her for me, _Loghain had asked, and Nathaniel had nodded solemnly before seeing the former teyrn's icy blue eyes break in a last glance at the woman cradling him in her lap…. Rhiannon's scream still reverberated within him, for never had he heard a sound that could rival her cries of agony and loss. But he is gone and I am here with her, he reasoned, holding her close to him. She had endured so much, fought so hard, only to end up completely alone once there was nothing left to fight for.

"You have to let me go..." Her voice came from somewhere between the folds of his shirt, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Not a chance..." _Because if you leave now, you will never come back_, he wanted to say but decided against it, knowing that she would not listen. "Your place is here, with your Wardens and..." His eyes sought hers and, heartbroken at the grief he encountered in their violet depths, he added, "With me."

"I can't stay here and do nothing while he is all alone out there, facing Maker knows what. He is still a part of me; I can't let him die now!" Her voice was urgent, trembling with feelings long buried, entrenched in a loyalty she saved for those she loved. Jealousy stabbed through his heart, fuelled by anger at the king whose abandonment had left her soul branded with shame and guilt.

"It was his choice, Rhiannon, you cannot take that away from him," he reasoned heatedly, his arms tightening around her. And where had the king been in her many hours of need, when all that had stood between her and destruction was Nathaniel and her few remaining friends at the Vigil? That seemed to have done the trick, her resolve slowly coming undone.

"You are right..." She let go of him, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I already took so much away from him. I can't begrudge him that decision simply to feel better about what I have done. Not that I ever could..." Her voice faded away at the thought, leaving her tired and vulnerable. "I want to be alone now." Guessing where his thoughts had gone at her relenting without much of a struggle, she smirked bitterly. "Feel free to lock me up or restrain me. It makes no difference."

"I would never..." he flared, his mouth snapping shut at the lie. He would. He could. He had done just that before, all in the name of protecting her.

Once again she had played him, fooling him as easily as one might a child. For when he returned the next morning to check in on her, all that awaited him on her desk was a brief note bearing her spidery script. It read:

_You have kept your promise. Now it is time for me to keep mine._

* * *

Ostagar. Silent and as welcoming as a tomb, the ruins loomed in the distance. White marble against the azure of the sky, it stood unyielding, a testament to history's continuing grip on the land of Ferelden. Rhiannon breathed in the crisp cool air, feeling alive for the first time in years. Clad in her iconic Warden leathers, famous across all of Ferelden for the silver griffon embroidered upon the extravagant chestpiece, she felt whole again. No longer the mourning wife, the last of the Couslands, Arlessa of Amaranthine or Ferelden's hero but simply Rhiannon, Commander of the Grey, closely tied to the lot fate and poisonous minds had thrust upon her. Nearly all of those nearest and dearest to her had wanted her dead at some point; the man she sought being no exception. Alistair Theirin, once the last sprig of an ancient glorious family, had been closely tied to her destiny for the better part of nearly three decades. Unwilling allies first, lovers later, ultimately enemies in what they sought in life, their connection had loosened to a vague, distant sort of friendship as old wounds finally healed upon one's wish being granted at long last while new ones were struck into her heart by the very same event. Ferelden's king had made no secret of his elation at his father in law's end at the hands of a particularly vicious Hurlock Emissary. Heat blossomed behind her eyes at the memory, her heart a cold, shuddering piece of lead in her constricted chest. Twenty-one years, twenty of them spent as man and wife; were not so easily put to rest and part of her, all that mattered in fact, had descended into the Fade along with him.

A raven's cry dispelled her bitterness with fond memories of Morrigan and her preferred form as a shapeshifter. The bird flew up ahead, straight at the long ruined Tower Of Ishal. For a moment, she wondered whether the ogre's dusty bones were still up there in its torched chamber. "Easy now, Caeris," she soothed her beloved horse, deeply aware of the creature's sensitivity to the darkspawn taint. It was but a faint fragrance here, intensifying with each step the formidable mare took and if its laid back ears and roaming eyes were anything to go by, she was afraid. "On foot it is then," Rhiannon sighed and dismounted, unwilling to endanger her four legged friend any more than necessary. It did not take her long to secure her pack on her right shoulder and her blades on her back and right hip…. Starfang, its runes glittering brilliantly, still served her well, as did the razor sharp little dagger hidden beneath her sleeve. Caeris neighed and blew out an exasperated breath, clearly unhappy at the idea of being left behind.

"Go back to Lothering, girl." Rhiannon ordered solemnly. "I will not need you to take me home again." The horse refused to budge, burying her velvety nose in Rhiannon's shoulder instead. "Oh love…." Tears stung behind her eyes at this open display of loyalty and affection, but she must not let it sway her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she unsheathed Starfang and struck the mare's sensitive backside firmly. "Go. Now." Said in a tone that would brook no opposition, the command was finally, if reluctantly, obeyed. Caeris trotted away, halting her gait occasionally to look back at her mistress. When Rhiannon would not look back, the horse finally broke into a thundering gallop and left.

Ostagar was a mess, more so now than it had been nearly thirty years before. The Dalish had abandoned its inhospitable shadow, deeming it inhabitable, never mind its allure to the darkspawn. The bridge was covered in filth and dead darkspawn in varying stages of decay, indicating that her target was nearby. A trail of gore, black as molasses, led down to the open battlefield, past the natural bottleneck position King Cailan had failed to take advantage of so many years ago. A presence within the taint, pulsing with warm familiarity, guided her through the remnants of what had once been a formidable stronghold. Until the darkspawn appeared from her left, attempting an ambush. Foolish filth, Rhiannon snarled inwardly, before hurling herself into battle. Two emissaries, she noted while evading a genlock's jagged blade aimed at her sword arm. Having just passed the king's old kennels with their sturdy gate, her plan fell into place seamlessly. A spell flitted past her shoulder and before the emissary could cast yet another, one of Rhiannon's daggers landed in its foolishly exposed throat, silencing it forever. Snapping the creature's staff in half, she lunged backwards as if pushed, using the momentum to strike a sideways arc through a throng of pathetically slow Genlock Grunts. The darkspawn howled in pain, yet would not cease to press forward. The second spellcaster's incantation grazed her cheek, burning like the foulest of acids. Dodging several blows by a formidable gunlock alpha, Rhiannon finally closed the distance between her and her prey. Feinting a stumble, she came crashing down on her knees and when the emissary shrieked in delight, her left arm shot upwards. The hidden blade gleamed in the pale sunlight before opening the artery in the darkspawn's thigh, causing it to crumble. Rather than give it time to collect its bearings despite the fatal wound, the Warden Commander leapt back to her feet and decapitated the creature with a swift stroke.

"Brainless fools!" she taunted, retreating towards the kennels. "Yes, you, you ugly bastards, come on, get me!" Only to curse at her own arrogance when she found the gate locked. She dropped her sword, pulled a pin out of her braid to use as a lockpick and sent a quick prayer towards Andraste. The lock was rusty, nearly crumbling away under her fingers. There was no time to pick up her blade as they were nearly upon her, so all she could do was lure them further in, back against a fallen pillar serving as a launching ramp, should things go as planned. They did. Mindless as they were and unable to both jump or climb higher heights than their own, about twenty darkspawn surged in before she charged at the pillar and, spreading her arms for balance, jumped on top. Her breath caught in her lungs upon impact, but there was no time to gather her bearings. Cursing her lack of practice, she sprinted towards the gate and slammed it shut, moving a heavy boulder in front to keep them inside. Time for phase three of the plan. Rummaging in her pack, she found the vials of poison and threw them over the pillar before the creatures could use their united strength to force the door open again. One by one, the darkspawn squealed, fell, thrashed about and finally lay still. _Thank you, Nate_! With the bulk of their comrades either dead or maimed, the few remaining Grunts fled back towards the tunnels leading below the Tower of Ishal.

It took her some time to collect her blades, wipe them clean and consider the odds. They would be back in larger numbers the next time, of that she was certain. If the echoes in her blood were anything to go by, there were about two hundred darkspawn in those tunnels, at least a fifth of them spellcasters. Her stomach tightened at the idea of being dragged underground to be turned into a broodmother, obviously the Grey Wardens' sterility was no protection against that. And the Grey Wardens had known about it all along, she remembered bitterly as her eyes swept across the temple courtyard where she had run into Alistair for the first time. Green as grass and about as charming, he had told her everything he knew about the Wardens, including his own musings about why the Grey Warden seemed less inclined to conscript women unless they were in the middle of a Blight. Poor innocent, her shoulders sagged at the thought, never quite appreciated for who and what he was outside his royal parentage. For all of Alistair's downright besotted prattle about Duncan, Rhiannon was enough of a Cousland to know that Duncan had not recruited Alistair out of pity or to provide him with a better life. Her own conscription being the result of a ruthless, downright heartless blackmail proved that beyond any doubt she may ever have entertained otherwise.

Taking stock of her supplies yielded more favourable results than she had hoped. There were over two dozen vials of poison neatly stacked away in her potions case, a whetstone to sharpen her blades, several days' worth of rations and some personal effects she would not part with, even on a journey like this. Her mother's faded prayer book, the ring carrying the petals of Alistair's long withered rose beneath a dark amethyst, the simple silver chain with Tara's enchanted amulet and the last letter Loghain had sent her from Amaranthine. It was little more than a report, yet the concluding lines in that beloved hand had carried her through the darkest pits of anguish.

…..

_Duty calls, cariad, and I must bid you farewell. I shall see you in Amaranthine in two days' time. _

_Ti yw fy nghariad, as always._

_LMT_

Rhiannon closed her eyes, willing him near so she could answer that last vow, praying that he would be able to hear her in the Fade. _And you were, are and always will be mine as well. _Loghain had never been one to use flowery language, nor had he resorted to the romantic claptrap others referred to so often to convey their feelings. Instead he had shown her respect, demanded no more of her than of himself and when those few words of the ancient tongue did slip past his stern lips on certain occasions, her heart had soared to high heaven. _You are my beloved, as always. _In truth, she could not have wished for a fonder, more loving farewell.

The time for musings over, she continued at a brisk pace, hot on the trail of the warm presence in the otherwise revolting taint all over Ostagar. A small camp was set up further down in the protective embrace of the stronghold's old walls, the air heavy with the smell of what could only be Alistair's famously awful stew. Her nose wrinkled at the scent of what had once been beans, lamb and possibly other greens as she edged closer, one hand on the hilt of her sword. Alistair was nowhere in sight and something in the air did not feel right. It was the stench of sickness caught in her nostrils that kept her from calling out and when she finally decided to make her presence known, it was by their old signal they had used during the Blight. Pursing her lips to shape a perfect O, she vocalized the melody of the first stanza of "Once upon a time in Ferelden dear", a favourite of her childhood. They had picked the simple song because a melody could always be hummed, thrummed, whistled or sung, depending on the circumstances. The answering hum did not come; all she heard was a startled, pained groan.

"Alistair!" she called out, her eyes frantic as she entered the distinctly modest tent.

The sight awaiting her made the knots in her stomach uncoil into white hot snakes of anguish. Aged far beyond his years and frighteningly pale, Alistair lay sprawled upon sweat soaked blankets and furs, his long hair sticking to his neck and outgrown stubble. Eyes still young and innocent roamed around to catch sight of the bearer of that beloved voice and, despite the fever's reddened haze, he recognized her. "R-Rhia…." He groaned; his voice ragged and raspy from disuse and effort. "Please don't…." Whatever it was he intended, she cut him off by hurrying to his side, her hands clenched into fists. This was Ferelden's king and there was not even a single guard or healer to protect him on his final journey? It was an outrage! Her cloak came undone with a click while her other hand, cool and comforting, slid across his forehead.

"You are burning up. Why are you here alone?" Ferelden already lost a king in this accursed valley, there was no reason for history to repeat itself.

"The taint…." He lifted a hand to touch her, make sure she was not another cruel delusion of his poisoned brain. "…it's dangerous. I ordered them to stay behind." His hand dropped to his side, satisfied to know that she was actually there. "The fevers came and went. I had hoped for the next bout to be still….." Pain shot through his side when her fingertips found a deep stab wound that refused to heal properly. "It came too soon. And now I can be here….with him and my family long dead."

The look of serene contentment at that last statement made her teeth ache with powerless fury. But an outburst would serve no one here, so she forced herself to remain calm. "What of your wife? What of Caecilia, your daughter? They and the people of Ferelden are your responsibility and they depend on you. Caelia is only nine-teen…."

"Twenty-four, actually, but I can't blame you for that. You never visited us anymore after…." He had the decency to blush and did not broach the subject any further. "I cannot go back to them. See for yourself." At that he pushed himself up as best he could and when his face was illuminated by the solitary candle burning in the tent, she had to summon all her willpower as not to recoil. The signs were all there, greyish blotches on the skin forming bleeding lesions, the eyes glazed over by a milky veil…

"You cannot travel in this condition. It would be dangerous to you and….to others." Her voice shook slightly as she spoke her verdict, knowing exactly what it meant.

"Meaning I'll die here. As it should be, don't you think?" He actually sounded happy at the idea; something that struck her as both inconceivable and heartbreakingly tragic. He was her senior by just four years, a man in his prime, nothing about this even approached being right. One of her hands slipped atop of his, startling her by the heat it encountered.

"I came here to take you home…." She whispered bleakly, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "I can't just leave you to the darkspawn like this."

"They don't come into the valley very often, you know? Maker knows what's keeping them from the grounds of their ill gained, greatest victory. What…" He gasped, eyes widening. "What are you doing?"

"Tending your wounds, what else?" The blade hissed as she cut a decently clean part off of her cloak, soaked it in water from her canteen and began to cool him off with one hand while the other unbuttoned his shirt. There were fewer lesions on his chest, though the wound on his left side still wept blood and other liquids she dared not think about. "There, that will not slow the taint but it may make the fever more bearable."

"I want this to be over," he lamented, shuddering beneath her fingertips. "Help me…." He suddenly implored; his face a mask of unconcealed terror. "You have always helped me…." A sob tore free from her throat before she could bite down on her fist. I never helped you move past this, I abandoned you to the wolves when you were most vulnerable and they've been feasting on you ever since! Andraste, guide my hands, don't let me fail him now. "Rhia…." Her name tore her from her prayer even more than his shaking hands did. Offering no resistance, she allowed him to pull her down until their foreheads touched. "There is so much to say….I don't know how….."

"Shhhhhh, love, it's alright." She soothed; her bravado brittle and frail.

"Tell me….." He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her tears away. "Tell me that you love me. Please tell me…." Feeling her shudder, his eyes sought hers and found the answers there as he always had. "Lie to me then. Tell me that you love me."

No matter how hard she pretended otherwise, there was no denying it now. She recoiled, stricken by grief and regret, and buried her face in her hands. Why was it so hard to console him by saying the three little words he had asked her to say? They had come easily enough elsewhere, yet he had never asked her to say them unless she actually meant them…. The moment passed and so did her final chance to make amends.

"I am sorry. Maker, I must look a fright, blubbering like a foolish little girl…." It was a pathetic attempt to joke the tension away, one he immediately recognised as such.

"No….still the most beautiful woman I ever saw….I am sorry, I am so sorry for everything." He assured her, smiling faintly.

"Alistair, please, listen to me. I…." The Fates were cackling right into her face at that point. "I do love you. I always have. But I have wounded you far too much to pretend otherwise or by saying that I did not love my husband more. I did. But you are no more to blame for that than you are for being Maric's son. If this is what you want, I will do it." She lowered her head to him, smiling gently. And then she was kissing him like no one else had in the past twenty-six years.

"Thank you. Maker's breath, that I should be so lucky. You were everything to me, my first, my last, my truest love. That hasn't changed one bit. Remember how I'd tell you that I regretted Duncan sending me to that Tower all those years ago?"

"Yes." Rhiannon nodded slowly, dreading this next revelation.

"I don't anymore. For all that went wrong that night, it led me to you. And I'm grateful for that."

"Stop, please…." Choking down a sob, she put her arms around him, unwilling to do as he had asked. There was another way, they stood one more chance at happiness, it was not fair that it should all come to an end now.

"Don't grieve for me. I'll be right here…" His index finger pointed at her chest, where her heart was racing against time.

Everything crumbled within her at those words. All the walls she had built up to protect herself fell in unconditional surrender to a general far more skilled than her own determination. Grief and sorrow plunged into her soul, tearing it apart until nothing remained but a throbbing ache.

"If you make me do this, I shall be all alone!" She cried, unable to withhold her fear. "Please, stay with me. I'll make it up to you, I swear. I'll find a way…." Rambling incoherently now, his steady gaze stopped her in her tracks. There was no other way except leaving him to the elements or the darkspawn and that she would never do. Her selfish desire for atonement must not blind her any further, she knew that, yet why was it so hard to act on that knowledge? Because she had wanted to kill him once, shortly after he had both abandoned her and cursed her to a lifetime of misery. She had not been able to do it then either.

"You are so strong and brave, you have always protected me. I wouldn't ask this of anyone but you because I know you can stand it."

_But I cannot stand it_, she knew, yet bit down the words. What good would it do if she were to say _'If you truly loved me, you would not even speak of this.'_; so she remained quiet and finally ceased to struggle. Anger was a better crutch than fear or love and it was white hot fury that surged through her at the futility of her debasement, the bitter irony of her reawakened feelings and the regret of having survived the past five years. Stubborn to the last, she wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, her expression hardening with every breath she took.

"How would you prefer me to do this?" A chill grew between them, icy tendrils tangling around their hearts. "Poison or the blade?"

"Just make it quick…." His voice deserted him at her icy glare.

"Very well, so be it then." The secret blade would not kill him instantly, though there were ways to make sure it was almost painless. On the other hand, Nate's expertly brewed poison would simply put him into an eternal slumber leading straight into the Fade. She rummaged through her pack, snatched up a vial of opaque liquid and uncorked it. "This will put you to sleep and the end will come quickly."

"Thank you. I mean it. I'd rather not end up as another darkspawn trophy to gawk at."

"Not on my watch, you won't!" She assured him as she poured the liquid into a goblet of water. "Here. Drink it quickly and try not to spill any of it. The dosage is the fine line between excruciating agony and a painless death."

He drank it down wordlessly, his eyes never leaving her face. The goblet fell from his hands as a coughing fit wracked his weakened body. "Urgh, nasty stuff."

"It won't be long now…." Her voiced faded away at the finality of it, seeing the first tremors going through him. "Be at ease, it won't hurt. Just lie still."

"Your hand…." Alistair breathed, his eyes glazing over with delirium.

"I am here." Squeezing her eyes shut, she grasped both of his hands in hers, willing the last remnants of her strength to sustain her. "You have done well, my love. It is alright to let go now. Be at peace, I am right here and will not leave you."

"Rhia…." He struggled to stay awake. "I am so happy that you…." His eyes fluttered shut, his breath slow and steady.

She would not watch him die. Loyalty could only go so far. Instead, she slipped out of his grasp and left the tent. Cool air eased the heat behind her eyes and when she was done gathering debris and wood for a proper pyre, the need to cry had evaporated. Laid out in his ceremonial armour and cloak, death had wiped away the sharp lines at the corners of his mouth, he looked almost as young as the boy she had so recklessly fallen in love with. Getting a fire lit was a struggle, yet after several attempts the flames blazed hotly, ready to consume everything in their path.

_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.  
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.  
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.  
In my arms lies Eternity._

_Though all before me is shadow,  
Yet shall the Maker be my guide.  
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.  
For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light  
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost. _

_Draw your last breath, my friends,  
Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.  
Rest at the Maker's right hand,  
And be Forgiven. _

Maybe, one day she too would find forgiveness. Having done her duty to the last, she walked away from the pyre and from Ostagar itself. Even the darkspawn seemed to know better than to challenge her at this point. However determined, she did not even make it unto Lothering before meeting Nathaniel and several Wardens on the road. She gave them a smile which they chose not to answer. Instead, Nathaniel dismounted and swept her up in a hug both relieved and fittingly angry.

"Maker's Blood, I thought I'd lost you. Never, never do this to me again!" he murmured into her hair.

"Fear not, my friend, for my traveling days are done and over." She assured him, clearly not strong enough to insist on proper boundaries.

"When Caeris passed us without you I thought….. Maker, what about the king? Is he?" Nathaniel shuddered at the thought of what she may have encountered. His memories of her tale of King Cailan's remains were still fresh on his mind. Rhiannon simply shook her head. "Maker keep him…." The Wardens said quietly, though none could hide their elation at having her back among them.

"Nathaniel, take me home to the Vigil. I wish to rest."

Upon reaching Vigil's Keep all relations between them ceased and Rhiannon once more took up her life as a grieving widow. Mourning what had been and what could have been, no man, not even Nathaniel, would ever breach her defences again. And when the time of her belated Calling finally came six years later, she too found salvation at the bottom of a chalice. Her ashes were entombed next to her husband, Ferelden's greatest heroes resting side by side as if sweetly sleeping. For he had been her first love from afar, her last love in the Beyond and her truest love through life's trials and tribulations. Rhiannon had resisted the idea of a magnificent tomb, in its stead asking for a simple resting place with a plaque bearing her name and the following words:

_Líbera me, Dómine, de morte ætérna, in die illa treménda:__  
__Quando cœli movéndi sunt et terra.__  
__Dum véneris iudicáre sǽculum per ignem.__  
__Tremens factus sum ego, et tímeo, dum discússio vénerit, atque ventúra ira.__  
__Quando cœli movendi sunt et terra.__  
__Dies illa, dies iræ, calamitátis et misériæ, dies magna et amára valde.__  
__Dum véneris iudicáre sǽculum per ignem.__  
__Réquiem ætérnam dona eis, Dómine: et lux perpétua lúceat eis._

The First Warden had objected to both her burial in Ferelden and the Tevinter Chant. Nathaniel saw to it that her final wishes were granted. It was, he felt, the least the Wardens owed to the woman who had sacrificed so much to save them all. He would visit the tomb daily, spending hours in undisturbed prayer. Tales whispered of her name being on his lips when the Maker finally called him to his side over a decade later.

**THE END**

Notes and Translations:

The text on Rhiannon's memorial plaque is, of course, the ancient Latin "Libera Me"

Cariad = My love or sweetheart

Ti yw fy nghariad = You are my beloved


End file.
